'Sibyl is turning into a parson,' said Miss Amabel with a laugh.
Miss Sibyl did not mind the laugh.
'The children are unfolding a parable to me,' she said quietly, 'and I am getting the benefit of its interpretation.'
Christmas came and went, and Roland and Olive, with the delights of a Christmas tree, and a party, and all the brightness attending that festive season, were a little shaken in their views upon an English winter. They went down to the lodge to talk it over with old Bob.
'I don't think Easter can be much nicer than Christmas!' said Olive, as she climbed up on the old man's knees. 'Don't you like Christmas, Mr. Bob?'
'Yes, Miss Olive, I loves the Christmas in the Bible; but not as some folks make it here. 'Tis very nice for you little ones, with all your bright spirits; but when you get old, you somehow never feel so sad as when every one round you is extra happy. I'm a lonely old man, and I miss my dear ones at these times.'
'It seems years since we came to England,' said Roland, his thoughts taking another direction, 'and it has been winter ever since we came from India. I can't think how it will ever look any different You're quite sure we shall see all the gardens full of beautiful flowers at Easter, Mr. Bob? I don't see how it is going to happen.'
'No more do any of us,' said Bob, with shining eyes; 'we just hope and wait, and the good Lord never fails. You won't see the garden at its best at Easter, perhaps, Master Roland, but you'll see the beginning of it all, like "the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day."'
So time passed, and then one day when the children were passing by the lodge, Bob called them in with a mysterious face.
'Look inside my dear wife's pot,' he said.